


The Damned Save the Doomed

by Caffeinated_Bad_Wolf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3832744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffeinated_Bad_Wolf/pseuds/Caffeinated_Bad_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For the greater good" was one of Albus Dumbledore's favorite sayings. Before his well-choreographed death, the greatest puppet master to ever manipulate the wizarding world pulled a few more strings in an attempt to give two of his most damned servants a shot at living through the black days approaching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Death of Albus Dumbledore

**Author's Note:**

> Insert standard disclaimer here: I do not own anything related to the Harry Potter franchise, and my writings are purely for dirty enjoyment with no financial gain.
> 
> Right, so, this will be the first fic I've ever posted. I've got about ten half-completed stories, purely guilty pleasure rambles, that occupied my imagination until I regurgitated them out into writing. I figure that this was the best forum to start posting them and see how they are received. My goal is to motivate myself to complete the fics by posting committing to posting one chapter per week (we'll see how successful that is). I have no beta, and I'm only marginally re-editing what I started writing years ago, so please forgive any gross errors or offenses to the English Language. Critiques/Comments are always welcome; I'm very curious to see how these will be received. Cheers!

**Chapter 1: The Death of Albus Dumbledore**

She waited at the bottom of the tower, the blood coursing through her veins pounding a frantic rhythm in her ears, raging over the utter silence of the dark grounds. The night was clear and the stars seemed unnaturally bright, as if pulling closer to observe the events unravelling in the towers and lawns of Hogwarts. Not a wisp of wind blew, making the air stagnant and oppressive. Even mother nature was holding her breath.

‘Where is he?’ The planned events were running late, and she was on edge waiting to carry out her orders. Disillusioned and huddled at the base of the astronomy tower, she spied many dark cloaked figures bursting through the gates and rushing the great magical castle. She itched to rise to battle and dispel the intruders, she could feel the magic pooling around her, threatening to betray her position. Her disillusionment was masterful though and none noticed her; she was still far too exposed for comfort, ‘Merlin be damned Albus! What is going on!?’

As if precipitated by her impatient thoughts, the sound of glass shattering far above her sounded like muggle gunfire in the silent night. Tiny, razor sharp shards rained down on her cloaked form. Her head snapped up, despite the stinging daggers, to see a familiar figure falling to the ground. Time slowed as robins-egg blue robes fluttered and rippled about the aged form of the Hogwarts Headmaster. Acting desperately and on panicked instinct, the woman threw out her hands, one clutching her left wrist. A ripple of light washed over her body breaking her disillusionment for a blinding moment as the a spell emerged from her flesh and screamed its way towards the falling body. She watched in horror as the spell wrapped around the great and powerful wizard, and then fled from his body, ricocheting off into the night, not slowing the descent in the slightest. Time resumed its normal pace and he plummeted to the earth and landed in a heart breaking crash of bone and flesh.

Her own breath left her on impact, she couldn’t force her lungs to work. She froze after taking half a step towards the once great man laying in ruins at her feet. “No” she gasped, it felt like her chest was ripping in two as she approached the corpse. She knelt in the grass and lovingly stroked the long silver beard that was matted with blood. His reflective blue eyes were open staring at the moon, but no life could be seen within them. She took a shuddering breath and ran her hand over his face, forcing the lids closed and cleaning away the blood. She leant forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the aged temple, knowing now that his spirit was long gone before he’d even hit the ground. The spell would have caught a living thing, but this was a soulless vessel with only the appearance of the one great man. The acidic tang in the air betrayed the killing curse which had struck the life from him and forever decimated the twinkle of his eyes. She realised that she was hyperventilating, panting over his prone form, and took a deep breath to stave off the panic that was surging in her breast. The world swirled sharply then immediately righted itself snapping into full focus.

The world was again silent. Her wrist burned, her gloves chafing the raw skin where the spell had split from her body. The touch of physical pain brought her further into focus as she stood, flicking her wand to hide herself again. She turned from the body not wishing to give the utter stillness of it more time to imprint upon her mind. 

The fluttering and snap of fabric came from above her and her head snapped back expecting another body to come plummeting down. A dark figure landed nimbly on the grass close enough that she’d sidestepped the swirl of the enormous black cloak that guarded his form. There was shouting from above and spells being flung down over the ledge of the parapets of the Astronomy Tower. The man’s face was turned away from the moonlight as stared down at the Headmaster’s bent and broken body, she thought she heard a strangled sob issue from him. In less than a second he’d straightened and looked forward, face wrenched into a scowl as the moon framed his beak-like nose. He did not glance back as he resumed his trajectory and fled towards the concealing depths of the Forbidden Forest. His cloak whipped and billowed behind him, the acid scent of death and herbs following in his wake, as the distance between them increased. 

She wanted nothing more than to fling curse after curse at the man, but Albus’s voice rang in her mind, “The request I make of you will be very difficult, but you must persevere and remember that everything is not as it seems. Your priority is to get him to safety.”

The black figure was already halfway to the gate before she snapped to her senses and dashed off after him. Whether she meant to kill him or save him she had to catch the bastard first. Still disillusioned, he did not see her when he shot a glance over his shoulder searching out any pursuers. Her thighs burned and her side cramped by the time she caught up to his long strides. At the edge of the forest he paused and turned back, his moonlight dappled face clearly showing that this was his final goodbye to the castle. He nearly looked soft in that moment, when he was unaware of the petite witch bearing down on him, when he thought no one would see his intensely private inner workings...his regrets, his loss, his grief. Two more steps and he would be able to apparate.

She flung herself at him, her impact winding him and taking him by surprise. Her fists wrapped in his billowing cloak as she twisted with the man in her arms and apparated away dragging him through the crushing void against his (very resistant) will.

The fell onto a rustic hardwood floor and there was a resounding crack as she felt her already weakened wrist snap as he landed on her arm. Hissing in pain, she flipped on top of him as he struggled to point his wand at the invisible attacker, “Stop!” He clawed at the invisible force pinning him down striking out physically at the faint shimmers that indicated the hidden being’s location. She pinned his wand arm to the floor and lifted the disillusionment from herself growling out, “Stop! Severus Snape for Merlin’s sake stop! Albus sent me!”

Snape froze, his trapped hand angled so that his wand tip was pressed harshly under the materializing jawline of a disheveled petite woman. His narrowed eyes raked over her visible features as he hissed, “Remove yourself from me or die.” Her cheeks were flushed a rosy red and her chest was heaving. Her cloak covered all but the gloved hands holding him down and the flaring nostrils taking deep breaths of air as the angled jaw clenched and unclenched, lips pressed into a thin line.

Her voice was surprisingly even despite the wand pressing into her pulse point which was wielded by one of the most powerful Dark Wizards in the world, “I think there’s been enough death tonight, don’t you?” His facade held, but he felt an ache deep in his chest at this stranger’s pointed accusation. At this point he became aware of the elbow pressed firmly into his other arm and the cool, smooth wood of a wand resting lightly against his temple. He glared at her, his mind racing, searching for an escape and an explanation. He didn’t think she was a Death Eater, but this could be another test by the Dark Lord. Damn that beast! To test his loyalties at a time like this. He barely had control of his emotions, he could feel his walls crumbling, he needed to get away and now.

She broke the tense silence first, “For fucks sake we need to end this standoff. If you use your wand you’ll give away our position--they’ve probably got a trace on it already. We need to keep moving. This place is hardly safe and it’s not our final destination.” The brows of the dark man beneath her furrowed.

“What are you babbling about?” Severus hissed out, his wand pressing harder against her slender throat. He still couldn’t see her eyes, he needed to know more and to know more he needed eye contact. This entire situation was confusing and answers quickly had were best had. His mind was more of a jumbled mess than he’d ever experienced before; Occlumency was not enough to suppress the surging emotions from the deeds he’d just done. He needed focus to attack another mind.

“Your safe house. Albus is your benefactor and I’m your guide. We’ll lower our wands on the count of three. Ready? One...Two…Three.” She sat up and held her injured hand out to her side, her wand dangling from her fingertips no longer threatening him, but straddling his thighs refusing to break contact lest he attempt to apparate away on his own.

Severus paused for a split second then sat up, grabbing for her as she jerked back from him, ripping back her hood grabbing a thick bun with it and ripping strands of hair from her scalp. Her head crained back, bound by his iron grip on her hair and hood, he muttered, “Legilimens” staring straight into defiant, sparkling sapphire eyes.

Albus sat at his grand desk in the center of the Headmaster’s office, Fawkes cooing happily as his sunburst plumage was stroked by the age-spotted fingers of his familiar, “My dear, you are singularly qualified for this are both very good at making things disappear, and you have the assets require to facilitate covert operations. I regret that this will place you in a position of grave danger, but I would not ask if I did not have faith that you are up to the task.” He moved from stroking Fawks to stroking his long silver beard as he focused on something far in the distance, “The request I make of you,” for Albus always made requests, never demands, “will be very difficult, but you must persevere and remember that everything is not as it seems. Your priority is to get him to safety.” A petite woman sat across from him sipping from a delicate china tea cup. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a high pony tail that fell over one shoulder and her deep blue eyes stared straight at the Headmaster over the rim of her cup. She was clad in a short, white, long sleeved dress with a brown leather vest over top. Leggings covered her thighs and brown leather boots, that had seen better days, rose to her knees.

With a crisp ‘chink’ she set the cup in the saucer and leaned forward to clasp her gloved hands on the edge of the desk, “Albus, I understand what you’ve asked me to do, and you needn’t persuade me--I gladly repay my debts, but I’m going to need more details that this.”

“Like what my dear?” His eyes twinkled over his spectacles at her. He was obviously very fond of the woman seated before him.

She sighed and raised a hand and began to tick off her questions on her fingers, “What, or who, exactly am I to be hiding him from? Where do you want me to take him? For how long? When will this happen? What means of communication are we to use?”

Albus chuckled and sat back in his chair peering at the tiny force of nature across from him. “You’ll be hiding him from anyone and everyone, even myself. Think of every way you have ever tracked someone or something down and assume that his enemies will attempt it. Prepare your escape carefully, and do not tell me any details, I entrust all of this to you. As for the duration of his disappearance, I fear that that is out of my hands...I do not know for how long he will need to remain in hiding.” Now he sobered, the usual light leaving his eyes, “I expect that you have a few weeks to prepare. I will send Fawks to you with a location and time, but your window for action will be small and you must be swift. The gates will always let you in and out, but I suggest the use of the Forbidden Forest, it will be a more obscure trail for pursuers to follow.”

The woman heaved a sigh and leaned back into the overstuffed chair crossing her arms beneath her breasts, “Is there anything else I need to know?” Her raised eyebrow and pursed lips clearly showed that she was not happy with the lack of specificity of her instructions.

Albus smiled gently considering his words carefully, “Know that I trust Severus with my life, and do not let anything you may see dissuade you from your task. Everything will not be as it appears.” He reached an arthritic hand across the desk to clasp hers, “I’m proud of you dear. I always have been.” It felt far too much like a goodbye.

A sharp slap across his face startled Severus from his mental concentration and stormy blue eyes came back into focus as he felt a mental barrier forcing him out, “You’re a right prick…we don’t have time for this.” What ever tirade she was about to go on was interrupted by two popping noises from outside the door. Her eyes went wide and her pupils dilated as she sprang to her feet and gripped him around his robes collar, lifting him to his knees, and nearly strangling him. She twisted on the spot as he had a last glimpse of the door behind her bursting open in red flashes of magic. She dragged him into the void once more, the crushing blackness between apparitions. He resisted the instinct to fight her in this in-between space as her will pulled them along. He’d no desire to be splinched or lost in the void.

They landed in a meadow, the moonlight washing over them. She pulled at his robes when he nearly fell over from the disorienting sensation of unexpected side-along apparition, “Get up. We need to move.” She ran with him in tow into a small patch of scrub then turned into a step and again apparated them away with no warning.

When they landed knee deep in a swamp he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, “Would you bloody stop that!” The damned girl was going to splinch him for sure.

“No.” She surprised him by grinning mischievously up at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and falling backwards, her weight pulling him down to land in the murky swamp.

Except that they didn’t land. With another pop they were free falling, the face of a cliff rushing past them. Severus reached for his wand in a panic as the choppy waters far below rushed towards them. Briefly, over the rushing winds, he heard her yell, “NO WANDS!” As she snatched his precious ebony stick from his hand and squeezed her eyes shut just before a certainly painful impact with the dark waters below.

With another ‘pop’ they tumbled onto a haystack tangled in each others cloaks. When they rolled onto a flat dirt floor Severus sprang to his feet and hissed, “accio wand.” and his wand jumped from her pocket (when did she have time to stash it there?) into his outstretched hand, “Woman, you will not be doing that again or I will hex you into oblivion. Where have you landed us?” He needed to get aways from her but nothing felt familiar about this place, he could not even get a general idea to apparate from.

Brushing the dirt off her knees as she stood, her injured wrist cradled close to her belly she peered up at him, “If you use your wand you’ll end up in Azkaban faster than you can blink. Two more stops, I promise. We need to keep going.”

Severus planted his feet firmly and raised his wand in a dueling stance, “I think not.”

The woman shrugged, “Have it your way.” Her fingers flicked at him he felt his arms snap to his side in a full body-bind before he’d even a chance to parry. His face flushed with the humiliation being restrained so easily, anger boiling to the surface. How had this slip of a girl managed to get that past him? Why was there no flash of magic? She stepped up to him and plucked his wand from his grasp, once again pocketing it. She wrapped her arms around his stiff neck and smirked up at him, “Aren’t you quite the charmer.”

They popped in and out of no less that five more places, each more foreign than the last, before she landed them in a quaint parlor and flopped back onto a overstuffed leather couch, “There. Not even the most skilled Hit Wizard could follow your trail here and it’s UnPlottable to boot.” When he didn’t respond she looked up to see his pallid face red with rage, jaw still as just as locked as his body, “Ah...finite incantatem.”

His body released from the bind, he immediately stormed up to her looming over above her seated form and growled out, “Only two more?”

She raised an eyebrow at him the pulled out her wand and started prodding her wrist which was hanging at an odd angle, “Extra precautions.” Her complete dismissal of him was disconcerting. Even without his wand he was one of the most imposing presences in the world. He’d built a life for himself founded on his ability to throw people off and intimidate them into submission.

“You bound me.” He growled, noting additionally that his usual looming presence clearly in her personal space didn’t seem to have an effect on the petite, infuriating thing in front of him.

“And took your wand. You haven’t exactly been cooperative, even after invading my mind. Get over it and sit down. We need to talk.” Severus snorted and took a step away to begin pacing up and down the edge of the oriental rug centered in the room attempting to consider his options. He’d had a plan before: seclude himself in Spinner’s End, make his way to Malfoy Manor once he was back in control, report to the Dark Lord and hope that the Potter brat could hold up his end of Albus’s grand scheme. Her wand tip glowed and she hissed as the healing spell failed and shot sparks over her abused appendage. The skin he could see was blotchy and continually swelling, there were burns across the top of the wrist in runic patterns. When had she been burned?

She groaned and leaned back into the cushion closing her eyes. Faint wrinkles of tension tightened around her eyes and in the corners of her mouth. Severus placed her in her early thirties. She could hear his boots thudding in angry paces. She cracked open one eye and watched the man pace for a while. “What happened tonight? At the top of the tower…” She trailed off as he froze, his posture stiffening. He didn’t answer her or look at her. She watched his jaw clench and unclench multiple times as flashes of anguish peeked out through his carefully guarded expression.

When he didn’t respond she heaved a sigh and stood from the couch. He whirled to face her, obviously on the defensive. She eyed him up and down, “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. If I’d wanted to off you, I would have done it before exhausting myself with so many side-along apparitions.” 

“You would if you knew what I am guilty of.” His mood took a turn from anger to something darker and his fight seemed to leave him. He finally sat himself in one of the armchairs across from the unlit fireplace and stared into the barren hearth. It looked as hollow as he felt.

“I think I have the general idea..” She sighed and padded over to a side room and into the darkness, not bothering to light any of the wall sconces. Severus heard some glass clinking and she returned shortly with two low balls cradled against her body with her bad arm, and a bottle of whiskey clasped in her good hand. With a clunk she set them on the table and settled herself into the armchair across from him, “Well, from the looks of it you have quite a while to convince me of your innocence.” He snorted at the word, he was many things but ‘innocent’ was certainly not one of them. She waved her hand and the whiskey poured itself and sailed into her awaiting hand, “Neat or On The Rocks?” she queried, only to pour three fingers neat when all she received as a response was another snort. She took a hefty swig before turning back to him expectantly waiting for him to speak.

After a long silence Snape finally spoke, “What else did Albus tell you?” For a brief moment he was appreciative of the perplexing puzzle of a woman sent to his aid; she gave his weary mind something to puzzle out and focus on. Were he to follow his original plans he’d likely be destroying half of Spinner’s End in his rage and grief. A witness in his proximity forced his long-cultivated occlumency to shield his inner workings, protecting him from the intensity of emotions he hadn’t experienced since her death. Merlin, he couldn’t keep this up much longer, he’d failed twice now. Another soul weighing upon the scales of judgement against him. Another person he’d come to love ripped from life because of his actions. So many dead, yet his bastard black heart was still beating. 

“Only what you saw there.” His face screwed up, showing distorted flashes of emotion for the first time since she’d tackled him. She watched, intrigued as he seemed at war with himself trying to maintain his facade in front of her. ‘Obviously a very private snake, this one...’

A strangled cry escaped the man and he buried his face in his hand. Startled by the unexpected outburst the witch sat up knuckles white on the grip of her wand, but did not draw. She propped her elbows on her knees and leaned forward to rest a hand on his lower arm. He flinched at her touch but did not pull away. Looking up he found tears in her eyes as she softly spoke, “Please, I really need to know.” Her voice cracked. She was hiding her pain and confusion just as much as he was. Her mission came first, but now that they were relatively safe, all she could see was Albus’s spiritless eyes staring up at her. She needed to know the gritty details.

Choosing his words carefully and dropping his gaze he murmured softly, “I murdered him.”

“In cold blood!?” Her voice squeaked and broke, her wand was fully drawn now and steadily pointed between his eyes. He did not flinch from her, his coal eyes dull and empty. Whatever break of emotion he’d had before was no longer present. 

“...to spare an innocent from tearing his soul apart.” There was silence and he focused his scowl behind her some distance. He felt the misery and guilt falling over him and he dared not look up at the woman before him. He was prepared to face any hex or curse she threw his way, and he deserved it, he didn’t even care to fight it. Perhaps punishment for his deeds would relieve some of the guilt eating away at his soul. He’d just killed his only friend and mentor who had handed his stained soul redemption on a golden platter. He felt the misery pulling him in deeper. At some point the fireplace roared to life in front of him, but he was too lost in his despair to be startled.

When he looked up, the woman had reclined in her chair, seeming to be swallowed by its depths. Her gaze, glazed and distant, reflected the flickering flames that lit the depths of her bright eyes. He could see tear tracks drying on her pale skin and he wondered what her connection was to the late Headmaster. Her empty glass was clasped by white knuckles on the edge of her armrest. She knew that he was staring at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at the dark man sitting in her living room. Finally she spoke, “The ‘innocent soul’ was a student?” her voice was low and gravelly.

“Yes. How did you...” His usually silken voice was barely more than a whisper.

She cut him off, “And a Death Eater?” Severus flinched at her obvious disdain as she uttered the dirty title. He nodded. She barely caught his affirmative gesture from the corner of her eye. He watched her cautiously as she stood and retrieved the whiskey bottle, filling her glass to the brim. She offered him the bottle, which he gratefully accepted. Still standing by his arm she finally looked down into his ashen features. Even behind his carefully placed mask he looked defeated, certainly not like one who had claimed the ultimate prize in the name of the Dark Lord. She decided to believe him, to believe Dumbledore...on one condition.

“Show me.” His head snapped up and narrow eyes appraised her determined expression. He shook his head looking away. Her glass clinked heaving on the table top, golden droplets raining down on the surface, and fingers which had seemed so delicate before took a vice grip on his chin directing his face up towards hers, “It wasn’t a request. You will show me now or you will spend the rest of your days in Azkaban.” Her blue eyes narrowed daring him to defy her, “Considering the one who told me you were worthy of such trust is now dead, I need to see it for myself.” Even after all the magics she’d done that day, the room fairly crackled with her show of power. Severus decided that he could easily ward her off, reclaim his wand and disappear.

His eyes narrowed at her presumptuous demand, scathing retort automatically ready at the tip of his tongue. He met her icy blue gaze and froze. She had Albus’s eyes. It was the same look he’d received all those years ago when he’d begged the Headmaster to save Lily. This mystery witch was giving him a chance to explain, and he surprised himself by desperately wanting her, someone...anyone, to believe him. Hesitantly, Severus lowered his mental barriers offering her a few choice memories. Azkaban was a decidedly worse fate that sharing a few memories with Albus’s confidant. Who was she anyway?

Before he could follow that train of thought a great force assaulted his mind ripping past his formidable barriers and drawing the answers she sought to the surface. He choked on an anguished cry, not prepared for this mental rape. The Dark Lord could scarcely have done better. Albus’s cursed hand. Narcissa’s coerced vow. Draco’s unwillingness to cooperate. Albus making him promise to do the deed. Albus kneeling before him begging…

“No!” Severus wrenched his head from her grasp and shoved her away. She stumbled back a few paces and stood with her head bowed, shoulders squared. He was seething with anger now, “How dare you…”

Waspishly she cut him off still looking away, “What? Enter your mind to verify the truth of what you say?” Her gaze snapped to his, burning into him. Seeing his angry visage she stared him down, but soon realized she’d gotten what she wanted. All at once every memory she had of Albus rushed to the surface and she deflated, slumping back into her chair, deftly swiping her glass from the table, “Consider us even Severus.” She tossed back a glup that made her eyes water...or was that sorrow doing that?

They were silent again for a long time. Once again she stood, putting her emptied glass down and striding into the hallway. He heard two heavy clumps as her boots came off and fell to the floor and a rustle as she finally removed her cloak. When she returned she stood a few feet off to his side for a moment before speaking. Her voice was low and even again, allowing for no questions or discussion, “This is the safest place I could bring you to. It is unplottable and heavily warded. You may make use of the garden out back. It is completely invisible and protected, the doors in the kitchen lead to it. Other than the garden, you may not leave this house. Do not answer the door, do not draw the blinds. No owl post, no muggle post, the floo was never even on the grid...” She paused and looked him over, “I’ve prepared the guest bedroom and bathroom for you. They’re up the stairs, the suite on the right side of the hall. I’ve also procured necessities which you are free to alter as you see fit...assuming that you can perform wandless magic. If you can’t, please feel free to ask me for assistance. You may not use your wand. Its signature is traceable, in fact I will be keeping it safe for you until further notice.” At this declaration Severus’s posture stiffened and his hands dug into the arms of the chair. As if in understanding, her voice softened, “I will try to procure an unregistered wand, but it will take some time. Until then you will have to make do.” She paused to gauge his reaction again, “Stay out of my quarters and my work desk. Other than that, you may help yourself to anything in the house. If you require anything, I will procure it for you. Do you have any questions?” In any other situation Severus would have gone off the handle at the demands and restrictions. This time, he held his tongue and was far too exhausted to work up a temper.

Severus was silent and tense so she turned and walked towards the hallway intent on leaving him to it. She stopped, one foot on the stair when he spoke softly, “What is your name?”

Without turning back to him she replied evenly, “You may call me Ari.” He heard her stocking feet pad up the stairs, a door opened and shut and then the house fell into silence, and he fell upon the bottle she’d considerately left with him.


	2. Morning Shocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those who have read the first chapter and left Kudos! Please do comment with any thoughts or criticisms; you all are the first to ever read this and feedback is much appreciated.

Severus awoke stiff and exhausted. He was still sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace. The flames had long since died but he was comfortably warm. His characteristic frown was immediately upon his face as he struggled to place his surroundings. Like a jab to the gut, the events of the previous evening came back to him, completely winding him, making it difficult to breathe. It was done, he had done it. He’d slaughtered the man who had taken him in, protected him, encouraged him. And this woman, Ari...he’d spent most of the early morning plotting ways to escape her imposed house arrest, stretching his senses to test the surrounding wards. His head throbbed with the aftereffects of too much fine whiskey, combined with hours of magical concentration. The last thing he wanted now was to be around her accusing glare and biting orders. He just wanted to be alone and forgotten - the sulking black spot, content to be left alone and ignored. But, alas, there was too more to do, and he had too much pride to be pushed about like a complicit prisoner. Villains like Severus Snape did not get the luxury of self-indulgent grief and were rarely relegated to the outskirts of public memory.

He shifted, his back protesting in agonized spasms at the movement, sharp pains radiating through him from sitting all night. The was a rustle of unfamiliar cloth and he looked down to see a soft blanket of seafoam green wrapped around him, it smelled like fresh cut herbs and the distinct, but subtle, scent of woman. He briefly brought it up to his nose, and took a long breath of the smell rattling off the herbal identities. He thought back to the previous night and recognised the witches scent, which he’d paid no mind to in all the excitement, but now investigated attempting to learn all he could about his captor.

Taking in his surroundings in the bright morning sun, he saw a comfortable lounge area that was dominated by a great brick hearth and brightly colored oriental rugs. There were potted plants in every corner and trinkets lining the mantelpiece. He sneered, so homey, a far cry from the pristine, barren quarters he prefered. There was too much sentimentality in this place, it wasn’t some sparsely furnished safe house, it was an individual’s sanctuary, and thus felt very private and forbidding to be in.

He stood and stretched, hearing his vertebra crack back into place, relieving some of his pain but leaving the dull ache of a night spent in tense attempts at rest and uncomfortable positions. Quickly folding the blanket, he discarded it on the chair and strode into the hallway. He was surprised to see his own boots lined up on the shoe stand and looked down to see that, indeed, the woman had apparently removed them last night. He felt violated by such a familiar gesture from a complete stranger whom probably despised his very existence. Even more so, he felt alarmed that the removal of his boots hadn’t woken him. He simmered in rage as he pulled the boots back on, expertly lacing and tightening them. He felt moderately better being properly dressed again, if not refreshed. He started pacing, working out his best mode of departure and probing the wards with his limited wandless magic.

Severus Snape, was a formidable wizard, and could do many things without his wand, but the unraveling of complex wards took all of his concentration even with his most precious instrument. A low growl settled in the back of his throat as his unease at being nearly defenseless grew with each minute that passed. His wand was an extension of himself. It was the one thing that his forcedly frugal mother had spent to extravagance on when her only child left for school. All of her hidden savings of many years used to send her son far, far away to a place where he would be among their kind, where his magic would flourish, and he might have a chance at a beautiful life. While his life was certainly far from beautiful, Severus had used the wand for both well and poor, and the wand had always responded unerringly perfectly to him. It was the one thing in his life that lived up to the perfection he demanded of himself. And now, for the first time since the wand has chosen him, underneath Ollivander Sr.’s knowing scrutiny, he was separated from it by the witch who’d brought him here.

His pacing took him from one end of the hearth room, to the main hall that held large double doors which (most likely) lead to freedom, to the stairway that ascended (supposedly to quarters), and back to the hearth. His mood darkening with each measured thump of his boots, he examined the hall’s wards only briefly, finding nothing more than he did the previous night, before reaching for the front door handle. His agitation had reached a head and he was reacting like a caged animal throwing itself against the bars confining it. He got the shock of his life. Literally.

Severus was thrown back eight feet, clear across the entry hall, as electrical jolts rushed through his body. He landed flat on his back, legs sprawled and hand sizzling, as the impact pressed all air from his chest. All cloudiness of sleep, all red haze of irritation, was completely forgotten as he pulled himself to his feet seething in anger, “Bloody wench!” Errant sparks of electric blue currents were still making his skin tingle. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end even before she spoke from above and behind.

“Who me?” He spun around to find the woman leaning against the wall at the top of the stair railing, arms crossed, an amused smirk on her face. Her appearance alone was enough to give him a focus for his anger, but the smirk was what irrevocably (to his thinking) gave him license to use his anger against her. How dare she find amusement at his expense! He stormed up the stairs to loom over her, the movement bareilly more than a blur, such was his speed. He invaded her personal space with antagonizing enmity and towered above her, bareily a hairs breadth between them. Severus was considerably taller that the infuriating witch, her head barely reaching his chin. She crained her head back to return his glare, “I did tell you not to leave.” Her voice was irritatingly musical and teasing. She suppressed a smirk as her eyes danced about his face watching the tiny blue crackles of energy jump between his staticy, fine hair.

“You did not tell me that I would be cursed if I tried. Lift the curse woman, I have no need of your ‘help’ or protection. I will be leaving. Now.” His voice was dangerously low and even, broking no room for dispute. His breath was hot against her face and smelled of stale whiskey. Her button nose wrinkled in distaste, but she didn’t drop her gaze or back away from the imposing man. In her line of business, men usually used their larger size in an attempt to intimidate or belittle her. Same shit, different day. The look on his face was different though. His thoughts were carefully occluded from her and his face betrayed nothing but anger and scorn, yet the black pit of his eyes were radiating grief and agony. He had the look of a tortured and caged great beast. She wondered if he always scowled like this, it certainly wasn’t a particularly attractive look for a man with such traditionally noble features.

She frowned up at him slow to answer, “Well then, I suppose it’s good thing that is not up to you.” She ducked under his arm and made her way towards a large set of doors at the end of the hall quite casually. Lightning fast, his arm shot out and grabbed her wrist pulling her back towards him. Her hiss of pain did not escape him, but he was not in a particularly caring mood. In fact, he felt quite antagonistic. He squeezed and she reflexively bucked against him attempting to wrench herself from his grasp and alleviate the pressure he exerted on her injury. Holding her arm fast to her side, he pressed her back against his chest, his other arm wrapping tightly about her neck, seizing with threatening pressure against her windpipe.

He leaned down to breath into her ear, “You will release me, and you will do it now.”

She didn’t move, but she didn’t tremble either. He could feel her pulse pounding against his restraining arm, but she showed no signs of panic or capitulation. He was damned near shocked when she chuckled, “I believe that you are the one who should do the releasing Severus.” His name came out in a choked gasp, but still she did not struggle against him. He tensed, physical violence was never his preference when facing an opponent. He thought it a disgusting muggle trait, transferred to him from his father. Being wandless and taunted did not agree with his temper. He felt the briefest amount of disgust at his own actions, before repressing it and reminding himself that she was all that stood between him and freedom.

As his anger subsided he became aware of her form pressed tightly to him. He loosened his grip on her throat slightly allowing more air flow, “I do not wish to harm you, but you leave me no choice if you will not let me leave.” He heard a very unladylike snort and she deftly manouvered her way out of his arms. He felt like he was moving in slow motion trying to catch her as she danced away from him. His limbs felt stuck in the thickening air around him.

“Severus, you may freely leave when you answer three questions, and answer them well.” She held up her uninjured hand in emphasis and raised her pointer finger, “One: Where will you go that is safe? Two: How are you going to get there? Three: How are you going to survive without a wand?” She stared at him defiantly, her three fingers raised before him.

As he felt his anger deflating, the heavy pressure slowing his limbs left him and he flexed his hands, “How did you do that?” He looked up at her still appraising him from across the hall. She merely quirked a half smile and winked at him. The chit!

She blew off his scowling black mood as if it were nothing, “Now, why don’t you freshen up and I’ll make something to eat. I didn’t have anything but whiskey last night and I’m damned near starved.” She slipped past him to the top of the stairs. It was only then, as her hand alighted on the stair rail, that he noticed she wore a light pair of suede gloves. She paused and gestured flippantly, “Those are your rooms.” She then turned her back and descended leaving him alone in the unfamiliar hall.

He frowned after her, still struggling to answer her questions in his head. Absentmindedly, he walked into the guest bedroom only to stop in his tracks just inside the door. Why was he following her suggestions so easily? Perhaps he was more of a wreck than he originally thought. That was a depressing and alarming thought. Suspicion crept up his spine and he quickly examined his faculties, searching for any sign of a mind-altering spell she could have cast upon him. He found nothing. 

His sight re-focused on the room he stood in; rich mahogany, wood floors basked in the sunlight streaming in through the crack of an open window. The drapery and bed clothes were of dark silken green. Silver wall sconces lit when he walked in revealing medium earth toned walls and delicately carved trim.

The bed was large and looked inviting after his night in an armchair. Walking over to it he slid his fingers across the cool fabric, surprised at its softness. There was an old fashioned roll-top desk in one corner and when he pulled up the hood he found it amply stocked with quill, ink and parchment. The wall that held the door was lined floor to ceiling with bookcases. They weren’t completely filled but he spied quite a few familiar potions reference books, even from where he stood across the room. His gaze drifting across the room, they landed on a dominating, ornately carved wardrobe. ‘That surprise can wait for later’, he grumbled to himself, certain that whatever leftover garments from an ex-lover or family member she’d dredged up would be most unsuitable. He then huffed thinking that she certainly must have a lover; what witch like her wouldn’t? She certainly seemed to believe she had the male species wrapped about her little finger. He surveyed the room a second time reluctantly admitting it to be more than adequate. Aside from the spacious Head of Slytherin chambers he’d occupied in Hogwarts for nearly a quarter century, this was the nicest place he’d ever stayed...if he decided to stay that is.

He heard water running close by and turned slowly to find another interior door to the room. When he placed his palm upon the smooth wood, the door swing open seamlessly to reveal a fully decked out bathroom. A huge claw footed tub reset in the corner under a window, the sink and vanity were more than adequate. The tub seemed to be filling itself with steaming water and upon closer inspection he found the necessary toiletries stowed neatly in a wicker basket in the corner. To his great relief the soap was simply that: Soap, no offending fragrances added. He quickly cleansed himself, scrubbing until his skin shone red, trying to wash off the filth of his previous deeds.

No longer under observation, the nobel features of Severus Snape contorted into an expression rarely seen on his visage. Grief, in its most base and recognisable form, stole over his face, the scowl lines warping into the crumpled-brow, gentle frown of the sorrowful. Pressure built behind his eyes until tear escaped to trail down prominent cheek bones, a ragged inhale giving voice to his pain. He did not grieve for his own misfortune. He was below worthiness for his own consideration and expected none from anyone else. He grieved for another beautiful spark of life being extinguished. There were two people in all the world that Severus Snape could say that his chilled, closed off heart had ever ventured to love. His hands rose, dripping water and suds, which he imagined to be the blood of Lily and Albus. He was drenched in it. There was a certain place in Hell for those who killed their loved ones. Warriors, in all of their blood bathed glory, had defended from enemies seeking to destroy what was held dear. The vile damned like Severus Snape had done it themselves, sparing their enemies the effort, and now he’d even done it by his own hand. With Lily it had been his actions which lead to her death; he’s signed her death note, but he wasn’t executioner who’d loosed the guillotine to sever her life. He’d killed Albus. With his own hands and wand, he’d extinguished a life. There was no way to claw his way to redemption with such a black mark upon his already morally ragged soul.

Now, sitting in a strangers bath, engulfed in self-hatred and agony, he trembled and allowed himself a moment of defeatist indulgence. By the time his hands and feet were pruned he’d come back around to formulating plans for the Potter boy, his determination building. He may be damned, but that was all the more reason to throw himself into the fight. Any sacrifices he needed to make to destroy the vile sociopath that was his Lord Voldemort, Severus would gladly make. His pounds of flesh from his worthless hide were nothing compared to the lives of Lily and Albus. And this witch was keeping him from assisting Lily’s son and achieving the mission Albus had entrusted him with. He needed to shake his odd little guard and get back to Voldemort’s side. Merlin only knew what the other back-stabbing sycophant Death Eaters were doing to grapple a place at the Dark Lord’s side now that his right hand was seemingly missing in action and the Malfoy family sufficiently shamed.

His frustration and anger returning, instead of being soothed away by the bath, as he drained the tub and found his clothing gone. He dried himself the muggle way...with surprisingly soft linens that seemed to sooth his roughly scoured flesh. Stomping into the bedroom he threw open the wardrobe and was again given pause. Black, everything in there was black. Certainly not his usual starched, Victorian style, but at least a color he was comfortable with. He pulled on a thick sweater and standard trousers and stalked out of the room. During his brooding inspection of the room and vigorous bathing, he had formulated answers for the witch’s three impertinant questions.

Sweeping silently down the stairs, feeling naked without his many buttons and billowing cloak, he turned the corner into the living room he’d spent the night in.The witch was seated on the leather sofa beneath the window her wand pointed at her wrist, muttering indistinctly. There were small sparks of green which quickly sputtered out. She continued to uselessly repeat the spell to no effect as he carefully observed her.

It moderately impressed him that this slip of a witch had tackled him the previous night. Her arms had felt strong and her grip nigh-impossible to break. She’d seemed much larger and more powerful amidst the feats of apparition than she did now engulfed in over-plush cushions and failing to perform a healing charm. His gaze drifted towards her wrist and internally winced; the flesh was nearly black with bruises. Even from the opposite side of the room he could see the swollen joint, bulging out at the end of her thin forearm. With each fizz of healing spell there was a strange resonance of faded, silvery-blue light that seemed to travel in a patterned wave up her appendage. He squinted trying to discern what that odd dissipation was.

He could feel her aggravation increasing with each failed healing attempt, it was rolling off her in waves now. She cursed loudly, breaking the silence and making Severus jump, hand flinching towards a wand he did not possess. Wrenching her arm back, she threw her own wand against the mantle. It dropped to the the floor with a small, abused clatter. He sneered to himself; only the truly incompetent blamed the wand and not the wizard. And for the witch to abuse her wand in such a manner. 

She leaned back, completely still, unaware of his silent observation, her head falling back to rest on the arm of the sofa. Her hair wasn’t restrained quite as strictly today and he could make out streaks of red in the filtered sunlight falling upon her brow. She was indeed quite the beautiful pain in his arse. He watched as she took a deep breath and sat up straight holding out her good hand, her wand flying to her from across the room. She murmured an apology to the abused object, stroking it gently, before she turned it back to her wrist. Another set of fizzling green sparks emerged after her incantation and she sighed, her head dropping back against the sofa with a dramatic thunk.

Severus had silently stepped into the room and came to stand before her, “May I?” Her head snapped up, wand immediately trained on him, as she nearly jumped out of her skin, startled that she hadn’t sensed his presence. She stared up at him for a long moment, examining the relaxed lines of his face, scowl seemingly banished for the moment, before shrugging and dropping her wand.

“Please do. I’m shoddy with my left hand, I can’t get the movements right. The diagnostic spell and numbing spell worked well enough. I just can’t seem to manage the bone knitting spell.” She flipped her wand around and held it daintily by the tip, extending the handle towards him.

He cautiously took the wand from her staring her straight in the eyes, searching for the trap this seeming offering of faith must be. Did she realize what power she’d just handed the man who’d choked her less than an hour ago? He cautiously moved beside her, studying her carefully passive expression, “Which bones are broken?” He delicately took her bruised and swollen appendage and turned it over in his hand. His long fingers easily wrapped around her petite hand holding her in place. Her glove was pulled down enough to expose her wrist and he caught a glimpse of dark brown markings swirling on her skin. He tried to focus on them but couldn’t seem to make out what they were. His gaze lingered on the one he could make out; it was geometric in nature appearing to be a miniature of spell diagrams students at Hogwarts would learn to develop in Arithmancy courses. He’d often used diagrams of this sort to work out potions interactions for theoretical and experimental development. There were no signs around the edges marking the axises or indicating relationship making it impossible for him to determine what exactly the diagram was of. Before he could formulate a questions, the swirling markings disappeared and he could no longer see anything but pale, smooth skin splotched by angry bruising and the not-yet healed scar of that singular, visible mark.

She grimaced as he lifted her arm closer, but her voice was clear when she spoke, all business, “The trapezium is crushed to smithereens, and the scaphoid has a nasty hairline fracture. The lunate has a shard broken off that is digging into the flesh causing all the swelling.” Severus frowned in concentration, wondering if using magic would bring back the markings once again, and began muttering the incantation. She watched carefully as her wand moved rhythmically in delicate arches and swirls directed by his deft hand. She immediately felt relief, but he continued on for longer than strictly necessary to heal the bone and the bruising began to give way to pale, unirritated flesh. Ari gave the dark wizard next to her a winning smile, “Thank you. I was struggling with it last night, but this morning was nearly unbearable.” She quickly pulled her hand back and rolled up the elbow length gloves, tucking them under her sleeves. Her eagerness to cover her flesh only served to pique Severus’s curiosity as he glowered at her, assessing each movement she made. She gently rotated her hand testing the movement, “A touch stiff, but it’ll do.”

He returned her smile with a stony facade as he moved to stand, eyes darting about the room. Her hand resting on his forearm stopped him and she smiled again holding out her mended hand, “My wand please?” He looked down to his thin, pale fingers wrapped around the intricately carved wand and the corners of his lips twisted into a crooked grin. This was his chance. The flat of his palm slammed into the center of her chest pushing her back onto the couch as he trained her own wand over her heart.

“Tell me how to lower the wards.” He growled the simple, feral command in a tone that brooked no argument. Clearly he expected to be obeyed.

She simply sat in a huff and crossed her arms under her bust. She raised an eyebrow and moved to stand, “No.”

He kept the wand trained on her but made no move to attack, “I will be leaving now.” She was being decidedly unhelpful and he chose to simply incapacitate her and go about breaking the wards himself. As his wand hand twitched about to cast a spell, she raised on hand in front of her in a halting motion. He grinned maliciously thinking that the witch was finally seeing sense, capitulating to his dark demeanor just as everyone else did.

Image his surprise when she cut him off as he was about to utter Stupify, “That isn’t going to happen. And fair warning, my wand with shock the hell out of you if you attempt to use it against me.” As if to prove her point she stepped right up the the wand point and let it press into the dip of her collarbone, her pulse beating strong against the wood. Immediately Severus felt a small shock travel up his arm making his muscles seize. She slowly reached up and pulled her wand from his convulsing fingers, “So, are you going to constantly fight me?” Her eyebrow quirked as she stared up into his midnight, brooding eyes, “Don’t get me wrong, this is prime entertainment and all…” Once again turning her back to him, she headed towards a part of the house he’d not yet seen, “Besides, I’ve already told you that you can go when you adequately answer my questions.”

He paused for a moment, recalling the answers he’d formulated during his bath, before following her. Stooping slightly to go through a low archway, he emerged into a huge kitchen. Baskets of herbs and spices were flourishing in the open windows. A center island was laden with hand-painted ceramics filled with fruits and vegetables. The witch stood over a stove top turning on the heat manually and placing down a pan. Severus observed her in this environment for a few long moments. She’d chosen to wear a long, flowing skirt which wrapped high around her waist. The intricate patterns in bright oranges and yellows seemed to dance as she moved about the space, collecting her ingredients. If his cloaks billowed about him like bat’s wings, then her skirts fluttered at each movement like a butterfly’s gentle unfolding. The fat, light-tan belt she wore around her waist showed him how truly slender she was; it was tightened to its last notch and still slid about freely. A billowing white blouse, tucked in at the waist, hung open at the chest. He caught a glimpse of her pert breasts as she bent low to reach into a low cabinet. Still though...she wore the gloves. Her arms hidden beneath the soft suede and billowing sleeves.

She moved fluidly around the place, intimately familiar with the placement of everything. Soon the aroma of heavy spice and savory sauce drifted to him, causing his stomach to rumbled fervently. His gloom still hung over him like a cloud, but, unlike in the Great Hall under so many accusing stares, he felt compelled to eat. He again suspiciously examined his own mind for any compulsion spells that could have been placed upon his mind. There was nothing but his own intense desire to have something other than bile and spirits fill his belly. 

He’d become nearly accustomed to the mischievous mirth that always seemed to grace his captors features. Thus, it was a surprise that she was not smiling when she turned to him, her face drawn in serious contemplation. She gestured to the tea pot sitting on a ledge absently, “If you’d like tea, please help yourself. The leaves are in the green tin beside the pot, hopefully there is something to your liking.” She turned back to the stove top, shakers and grinders hanging in the air around her adding dashes of this and splashes of that as she quickly chopped up a pepper. He watched her fingers as she handled the knife with expert precision even with gloves covering her hands.

Snapping out of his daze, he moved towards the teapot and set it in the sink to fill. His observations extended to the rest of the space. An open bar area boxed in the kitchen, a quaint art deco table and matching chairs sat in a breakfast nook with floor to ceiling windows. Through another arch, he could make out what must be a formal dining room. Shutting off the tap, he waved his hands over the pot, immediately bringing the contents to a boil. Her voice startled him right beside his shoulder, “Ah, so you can do wandless magic?” She was peering past him at the water coming to a rolling boil as if examining it for a fault in each bubble which burst at the surface.

He rolled his eyes, “Obviously.” She glanced up at him, still quite shrouded in seriousness that did not seem to befit what he knew of her nature, before nodding and returning to the pan on the stove, “That will certainly be useful for the time being.” Sifting through the tied packets of tea leaves in the canister he found something that smelled dark and strong and dropped it into the pot to steep.

He wandered over to the window and gazed out into a lush garden area. A stone pathway wove itself lazily through the large yard dividing it in half. On one side he saw what was obviously a well kept english garden; roses, dahlias, tulips and all assortments of green vines and colorful flowers. There was a fringe of trees at the back that looked to be bearing a burdensome variety of fruits, their branches bowing beneath the weight of many-colored fruits. Directly under the window he was standing at, enormous tomatoes were staked to posts and a vegetable garden flourished.

His curiosity, however, was captured by the other side of the garden. He saw at least two dozen varieties of magical plants, all at full growth, all divided from each other by small wooden borders. His eyes narrowed as he concentrated on identifying each species: poisons, aphrodisiacs, healing varieties...as he peered on, he found two twisting vines he could not name. Apparently this witch was quite the herbologist. He was fairly certain that at least two plants in her little collection required ministry approved permits to cultivate.

The clatter of plates behind him made him turn sharply and he saw two settings already laid, the teapot in the middle. The witch was placing two heaping plates on either side of the table. She avoided his demanding gaze as she sat herself to one side reaching for the teapot, “You can help yourself to whatever you’d like in the house, but it’s nearly impossible to cook for one. I put leftovers in the icebox, have whatever you fancy.”

He grunted, contemplating declining the meal she’d made, her whirlwind personality changes from homemaker to captor making her every action a subject of Severus’s scrutiny. His stomach spoke for him, rather loudly, as he looked down at the plate piled with an enormous omelet stuffed to the brim with meats, vegetables and cheeses. He sat himself with a disdainful sneer and cut into a piece of it, steam bursting forth from the center, enveloping him with savory scents. He lifted it to his mouth and sniffed the concoction. His mouth was watering, but he’d be damned if he let the woman know it. She was carefully watching him as she took her own first bite.

After a few minutes of her scrutiny, and his dissection of the plate, she quirked a smile at him, “If I’d wanted to poison you, I wouldn’t have had to taint my cooking with it.” He sneered at her raising his eyes to meet her icy observation and definitely took a bite.

‘Merlin, this is better than anything served at Hogwarts.’ He bit into another fork full, his sensitive palate picking out spices and flavors. She smiled softly, lowering her eyes to her plate, as he continued eating. Before he knew it, his plate was half empty. Had he really eaten that much that fast? Was there a spell on it? No, he may not have his wand, but he would have sensed any charms or enchantments.

He glanced up to find her poking at her food, plate hardly touched, elbow propped on the table, head resting on hand, staring out the window into the garden. He followed her gaze, but saw nothing of importance. Setting down his fork he crossed his arms and frowned at her, “I thought you were ‘damned near starved’?” His rich voice wrapped his words in condescension.

Her eyes drifted back to his face and she sat up straight folding her hands in her lap, picking at a thread on her gloves. The maintained eye contact for a moment before she sighed, dropping her eyes and muttering, “I was. I should have made something else though.” Her gaze flitted to his plate, “But I’m glad to see that you like it.”

“Why?” He growled, immediately distrustful, and unwilling to dole out such a blatant compliment.

“Any witch is happy to see her cooking approved of.” She was being intentionally obtuse, avoiding his question, trying to hide behind feminine wiles and flirtations. He hated it when women did that. What a weak member of the female sex one must have to be to rely on intentional ignorance and coy idiocy.

“Don’t play daft witch; it’s not becoming of you.” He glared at her for a long moment before she looked up. He was surprised to see the glistening of tears in her eyes before she looked out the window again. By all that was magical and Merlin’s sweaty bollocks to boot! The fucking witch was going to cry now? What the bloody hell had Albus been thinking when “assigning” her a task remotely related to him--let alone one which put them in close quarters. Severus resolved to hate her all the more. Then, of course, she spoke with something perfectly heart wrenching and completely explainable. Fucking sly witch.

“Albus always asked me to make this for him. Morning, noon, or night. Whenever he visited, this is what he wanted to eat.” She sighed and stood picking up her plate. When she saw Severus’s scowl darken she stopped, “My apologies, Severus. I am not blaming you; infact I believe you.” Of course she had to bring that up; like he needed her fucking approval or forgiveness. “It’s just that he obviously knew the time was coming, and he didn’t even give me the opportunity to say goodbye.”

He continued to unsympathetically glower at her, thinking her gesture to be nothing more than an attempt to garner his sympathy and cooperation. ‘Try being the one who killed him.’

She gave him a little half smile, melancholy settling over her features, tears gone from her eyes, as she turned back to the kitchen. She magiced her leftovers into tinfoil and sent them to the icebox and left, leaving Severus with his extremely uncharitable thoughts.

Not a moment later he viciously vanished the remained of the meal, which has previously seemed so enticing, with a sharp wave of his hand. He sat brooding, staring off into the mid-morning lit garden, formulating his escape and the necessary actions afterwards which would put him back on the path of the Dark Lord’s destruction.


End file.
